


give me touch (cause i've been missing it)

by orphan_account



Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you ever been so in love with someone that you wanted to see them first thing in the morning and last thing at night, every day, every night, for years?" It takes him two years, but Peyton finally realizes who Tom had meant. <b>Or:</b> the one where the Broncos and Pats try to rekindle the Brady-Welker flame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	give me touch (cause i've been missing it)

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of the plot, Tom and Peyton have been friends since before 2011. There's a chance that they were, in actuality, friends then, but looking into it, I didn't see much confirmation until Peyton shared details of Tom's support during his injury late in 2011. It's a minor detail compared to the exclusion of wives and girlfriends, but... that just kind of happened.

Peyton studied Wes, noting that his usually-excited demeanor was missing. The shit eating grin the team had always thought was glued to his face was gone, replaced by a scowl and frown lines. Everyone had noticed the change in his attitude almost immediately, finding it hard to miss.

"What the hell is up with Welker?" Ayers asked.

"He's sulking," Decker said.

"Well, why the hell is he sulking? We're almost undefeated."

Decker rolled his eyes. "We're playing the Pats in two weeks."

Blinking, Ayers gave his best impression of a lost puppy. "And?"

"Idiot," Bailey said, throwing one of his gloves at Ayers' head. " _We're playing the Patriots in two weeks_." He dodged his glove being thrown back at him with an eye roll of his own. "Before you ask why the hell that matters, you should keep in mind that Welker used to be Brady's right-hand man."

Behind him, Peyton heard Holliday snicker. "Right-hand man? That's gotta be the understatement of the year. The dudes were best friends. They were a well-oiled machine. They kicked ass together on that field."

"You want a framed photo of them for Christmas?" offered Decker.

A beat, then, "Wipe that stupid grin off your face before I make you, Decker."

Ignoring the playful banter that ensued, Prater decided to speak. "You're all idiots," he muttered. "He wasn't a right-hand man like wide receivers usually are to quarterbacks. And they weren't just best friends. Come on, guys, open your eyes, will you? Brady and Welker used to have a thing." A chorus of  _what_ 's followed, the statement apparently catching everyone's attention.

"It makes sense," Peyton said, after a moment, recalling something Tom had mentioned in February of 2011.

They had been at a party Aaron had invited them to, celebrating the Packers' Super Bowl win.  _Leave your rivalry and grudges at the door_ , the invitations had read. There had been free food and booze and hockey on a flat screen television, but Tom had been in a mood almost identical to Welker's current one.

"Have you ever been so in love with someone that you wanted to see them first thing in the morning and last thing at night, every day, every night, for years?" Tom had asked, eyes shining with something Peyton couldn't quite put his finger on at the time. "But you couldn't, because there were so many people that would've judged and criticized and mocked you. You couldn't kiss them, even when it was the only thing you wanted to do. You couldn't hold their hand or take them out to dinner. You couldn't do shit."

Unsure of who Tom was speaking about, Peyton had shrugged, asking, "If you love them, who cares what other people think?"

He hadn't considered the possibility of _someone_ being Welker, best pal and partner in crime. He hadn't considered the too-long touches or stolen glances, or the way Tom spoke in a tone that resembled fondness every time he praised Wes. Even after Wes had joined the Broncos, Peyton had thought nothing of the way Wes would lose the spark in his eye every time the Patriots were brought up. But now, after piecing all the clues together, it made sense.

Caldwell could only stare at Prater. "Wait, how do you know this?"

"Some of us actually like talking about feelings," Prater replied.

"Besides," Osweiler added with a smile, "it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure these things out."

"You guys are real hilarious," said Caldwell. "And real lucky I can't kick your asses."

Another round of banter began and Peyton considered telling the others to stop with the childish antics, but fortunately, Tamme beat him to it. "Why the hell are you all teasing each other when you  _should_  be planning how to pull a Parent Trap on Welker and Brady?" _Finally_ , someone was on the same page as him.

* * *

The planning phase sailed smoothly, all things considered. Decker and Osweiler charmed one of the receptionists at their hotel, convincing her to let them use an unreserved conference room. "One of our friends is really love sick," Osweiler murmured, the perfect picture of concern and compassion. "Our team just wants to help the poor guy out." When she looked just barely convinced, Decker followed with a story of how their unnamed friend wasn't eating or sleeping.

"He's absolutely miserable," Osweiler said, obviously catching on.

Glancing at the name tag pinned on her blouse, Decker allowed a small smile to tug at his lips. "Lisa," he said, "you'd be a life saver if you did this for us. Please."

'Lisa' sighed, but returned the smile. "My supervisor is going to kill me, but anything to help your friend." She handed Decker the key, telling them to return it as soon as they were wrapped up.

"If your supervisor has an issue with this," added Osweiler, writing something down on a piece of paper before handing it to her, "tell him he has an issue with the Broncos."

With Tamme volunteering to keep Welker company, the rest of the team crowded into the conference room, eyes fixed on their team captain and the white board behind him. They'd agreed to form a game plan to "rekindle the Brady-Welker romance", but there were still loose ends they had to take care of first. "We're probably going to have to call one of the Patriots," Wolfe suggested. Peyton nodded, promising to contact one of the players later that evening.

"If Brady is as miserable as Welker is," Peyton said, "I doubt they'll leave us hanging."

The others seemed to agree, not objecting to reaching out to their rivals. They discussed what needed to happen before any flames could be rekindled: Welker and Brady would have to see each other before the game, at least a day in advance, so they could do more than just exchange hello's and how are you's. Moreno jokingly mentioned getting the two a hotel room, but at Bailey's insistence, they added it to their to-do list. Details for Plan A to Plan D were covered—what ifs needed to be eliminated and their back up plans needed back up plans—and it wasn't until hours later that everyone retreated back to their individual rooms, finally satisfied.

"This better work," Ayers huffed. God, Peyton hoped it would.

* * *

Peyton had to call a friend of a friend of another friend, who redirected him to a friend of an ex-teammate, but he finally got his hands on Amendola's number after making half a dozen calls.

"This is Danny," Amendola answered after the second ring.

"Hey, Danny, this is Peyton."

"Manning?"

Peyton smiled. "The one and only."

"You're kidding," Amendola said. "Am I being Punk'd?"

He couldn't help but laugh at the surprise practically permeating through the phone. "Didn't they cancel that show? Listen, I hope you don't mind that I got your number from a friend, but I actually wanted to ask you something."

"Mind? Are you kidding?" Danny asked. "You're Peyton Manning, man. Of course I don't mind. What can I do for you?"

"I was calling about Tom, actually." Peyton scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to approach the subject.

"Does this involve Welker?" Surprised by Amendola's immediate response, Peyton could only say 'yeah', allowing the wide receiver to elaborate before he said anything else. "I thought so. You hear things in the locker room, you know? Brady's been in a hell of a mood, and it's like it only gets worse the closer we get to playing you guys. Just the other day, Edelman said something about missing Welker before practice, and Brady barely said a word after that. He was distant the entire time." A pause. "I'm not blind. Stupid, either. I know Brady and Welker were close. Closer than most people think. Even if I didn't hear the guys reminiscing in the locker room about how they used to tease  _Tommy_  and  _good ol' Wes_  about acting like love birds, I'd know. Hard not to with the way Brady talks about Welker."

"Almost fondly?"

"Like they belong in a damn romance movie," Danny finished with a small laugh.

Grateful for the opening, Peyton was quick to share details of the game plan. "It's funny you should say that, because the team and I were actually planning on setting a Parent Trap for the two. That's where you and the Pats come in. As it is, we can only manage the part of the plan involving Wes. We'll need you guys to take care of everything concerning Tom."

"Like the Lindsay Lohan movie? Count me in. I'll see what I can do over here. I'm sure I can recruit a few guys."

"Keep me updated, yeah?"

"I'll be sure to," said Danny.

* * *

_A few guys_  ended up being the whole team.

He'd talked to Gronkowski first, then Edelman, and they didn't seem at all surprised by the revelation.

"I always knew those two were screwing around," Gronkowski said.

"Don't sound so insensitive," Edelman chastised. "It was more than just screwing around and you know it. Those two were smitten with each other."

"Does this mean you guys are in or what?"

Edelman and Gronkowski both looked towards Amendola and nodded simultaneously.

From there, the three successfully convinced the rest of their teammates to join them in reuniting their quarterback and former wide receiver, not finding the task at hand difficult at all. "If Welker is the solution to Brady's fits," Bolden told them, "then we'll be damned if we don't help." A resounding  _amen_  followed, just before Brady appeared through the doorway looking as tired and sullen as ever.

Everyone in the locker room glanced at Edelman, silently urging him to do something. Julian just stared at Danny. "Tell him," he mouthed.

Cautiously, Danny approached Tom, aware that all eyes were on him. "Hey," Danny said.

"What's up?" Tom asked, but Danny knew from his standoffish tone that he didn't particularly care and wasn't in the mood to speak to anyone.

Danny observed the other man's nearly-sluggish movements as he dug through the black gym bag before saying anything. "Wes called."

Tom's head jerked up. "Yeah?" He sounded so damn hopeful, it was almost overwhelming.

"Yeah. The Broncos are arriving a few days early and he said he wants to see you. I told him I'd pass the message along."

The information seemed to startle Tom, making Danny wonder if he'd had a falling out with Welker recently or some time ago. To the best of his knowledge, the two had parted on perfectly amicable terms, as best friends usually did. It was what he and Bradford had done. Then again, Welker and Brady weren't just best friends.  _Then again_ , neither were he and Sam for some time. Christ, when all of this was said and done, Danny would bill the two for Tylenol. The situation was starting to give him a migraine.

"Thanks," Tom said, as Danny turned to retreat. "For playing messenger, I mean."

"Don't mention it."

At practice, nobody commented on Tom's sudden change in attitude.

* * *

"They are so stupidly in love."

"Hello to you, too."

"Sorry," Danny apologized. "But they are."

"It's like a high school romance starring a bunch of football players with their heads up their asses," Peyton agreed, earning himself a laugh from the other end of the line. "Did Brady buy it?"

"Oh, he bought it. You should've seen the look on his face when I told him Welker wanted to see him, though. He seemed so surprised. I know they haven't been able to hang out in months with the regular season and everything, but man, it's like I told him his dead dog was revived or some shit."

Humming in thought, Peyton considered the new information carefully. "Lover's tiff?"

"Did you just say _tiff_? Do Americans even say tiff? Never mind. To be honest, I don't know what the hell to think. They both seemed fine with Welker's departure. Brady was supportive, Welker compared you both to artists to avoid answering questions about who he preferred working with, and they even Skyped when they could. I don't understand what changed." Danny paused, wondering. "I thought it was the long distance, at first. That usually puts a strain on most relationships. But if that were the case, they'd be excited to see each other, not dreading the very day."

"You think they broke up?"

"Nah," Danny said. "Post-breakup blues are a whole different ball game."

This time, Peyton laughed. "Punny."

Both remained silent for a moment, allowing themselves and the other person to mull things over.

A thought occurred to Danny. "What if it's bad faith?"

"What do you mean?"

"They worked together for, what, five years? Let's say they were in a relationship for a considerable amount of time during those years of working with each other. They're used to keeping tabs on each other. They're _not_ used to the long distance and the sense of insecurity that comes with it—especially if they feel replaced. What if that led them to believe the other person was remotely interested in whoever 'replaced' them?"

"You mean _us_?" Peyton sounded incredulous.

"Think about it."

"Holy _shit_ ," Peyton hissed. "Warn a guy before you pull the rug out from underneath him, will you?" He cut Danny off when the other man started to say 'sorry' again. "And stop apologizing. That was really insightful of you."

"It sounds ridiculous to us, because we know better, but it's not uncommon for people in relationships to doubt the nature of some of the friendships their partner is involved in. It's especially not uncommon when there's a lack of communication on one or both ends of the relationship."

"Don't quit your day job or anything, but you should consider being a love guru."

"Who says I'm not already?" Danny said with a grin.

Bemused, Peyton shook his head, transferring the phone to his other hand and ear. "Alright, oh wise one, what are we supposed to do about this?"

"How good of an actor are you?"

* * *

_To: Everyone selected in Group, "Broncos"_

_New intel from Amendola. Brady and Welker might still be together. Plan C is in effect but needs to be modified. Meeting tomorrow morning at 7:00 sharp on the field. I'll tell Welker that practice starts at 8:00 so we have some time to discuss the essentials. Don't be late. - Peyton_

Expecting everyone to be unhappy with the time of the meeting, Peyton was pleasantly surprised when there were no complaints that morning. When the others had arrived at the field, he'd expected to at least hear, "Peyton, man, I love you, but what the hell, dude?" They didn't look particularly overjoyed by having to show up so early on their day off, but at least they weren't whining.

"I appreciate everyone getting here on time," Peyton said. "I know this is supposed to be our day off, but let's get down to business, shall we? It seems like Welker and Brady are still together. Now, you're probably wondering why they're acting the way they are if there was no bad break up in the picture, but Amendola came to a pretty insightful conclusion."

"And?" Demaryius urged.

"He thinks they're jealous."

Green made a face. "Why the hell are they jealous?"

Decker must have been at the top of his A-game, because his eyes spoke of startled revelation. "Shit," he said, "they're jealous because of the partner swap."

"Partner _what_? You all lost me," Moreno said.

"Brady's jealous of Manning," Tamme supplied, immediately catching onto what Decker had implied, "and Welker's jealous of Amendola. _Shit_. It makes sense. That must be why they haven't been looking forward to playing each other."

When a flurry of responses erupted—various players shouting out questions at the same time, voices on top of voices—Peyton called out to everyone to reign the conversation back in. "Guys! Focus. We've hit the nail on the head, so let's get back to the topic at hand. We're here to discuss the changes we need to apply to the plan and that's what we're going to do. First order of business..."

* * *

"This isn't going to work."

"And I thought I had bad phone manners," Danny teased.

"Hi," Peyton tried again. "This isn't going to work."

Rolling his eyes, Danny turned the volume on the TV down. "I can see the headlines now. 'Peyton Manning: Star Quarterback, Lousy at Greetings'. Actually, scratch that. The headlines should say, 'Peyton Manning: Future in Hollywood', because this is totally going to work. Have a little faith in yourself, will you?"

"You mean us, _babe_?"

"Babe was a pig. I prefer hunnybunny."

A snicker. "I will never be able to take you seriously after this."

"Hazard of the profession, _sweetheart_."

* * *

It took some hacking—though Julian insisted on calling it otherwise, because, "It's not hacking if you know a best pal's password"—but Danny managed to send Welker an e-mail from Tom's account after studying the past messages the two had exchanged.

_Hey. Long time no see. I hear you and the Broncos will be arriving some time tonight. If you're interested, I'd really like to see you. Dinner, maybe? Breakfast tomorrow, if you're tired. I miss you. T_

"That's so cheesy," Rob commented, throwing his arms up in mock surrender when Julian glared. He set a phone down on the table as a placating gesture, taking a seat beside Danny. "Brady's phone," he explained. "Thought it would be useful."

"Great," muttered Danny, "we can add stealing to the list."

" _Borrowing_ ," Julian corrected. "We'll give it back. Let's just hope Brady is too busy screwing Welker by then to be pissed at us for all of this." He gestured wildly to the air around them while Rob mumbled something about unnecessary mental images.

A new notification drew Danny's attention away from the two other occupants at the table, Welker's quick response piquing his curiosity.

_I miss you too. It's been too long. Name the time and place. I'm there._

There were so many underlying implications and questions, every word so meaningful, it made his throat feel constricted with emotion. Danny must have zoned out for longer than he realized, because when he looked away from the computer screen, Julian was watching him with concerned eyes.

"Something wrong?"

With a half-hearted smile, he shook his head and slid the laptop over to where Julian was sitting across from him. The other man skimmed through both e-mails and seemed to share the same thought process, a lopsided grin forming on his face but not quite meeting his eyes.

"They're idiots," Julian offered fondly.

Rob looked back and forth between the two. "Am I missing something?" he asked through a mouthful of fries.

* * *

Wes was a bundle of nerves. Actually, Wes was more than a bundle of nerves. Wes was a ball of "I'm about to see my partner who really hasn't been my partner for a while" anxiety. He missed Tom. God, he really missed Tom. They hadn't broken up after his departure, but they certainly crumbled at the seams. There were phone calls and video chats, but it wasn't the same. _They_ weren't the same. They hadn't been in a long time.

Naturally, he was both excited and nervous about the prospect of seeing his boyfriend—screw Tom if he told Wes not to call him that, Wes thought he earned the right after months of long distance—again for the first time since signing with the Broncos.

"You okay?" Peyton asked.

"Yeah," Wes said, offering him a reassuring smile. "Pre-flight jitters, you know?"

Peyton looked unconvinced, but dropped the subject, opting to drop into the seat beside Wes instead.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Technically, you just did," Wes replied.

"Smartass," said Peyton, no real heat behind his words. "I'm being serious." When Wes gestured for him to continue, Peyton did, choosing the same words Brady had when asking him about relationships. "Have you ever been so in love with someone that you wanted to see them first thing in the morning and last thing at night, every day, every night, for years?" He paused, for emphasis. "But you couldn't, for a number of reasons. You couldn't kiss them, even when it was the only thing you wanted to do. You couldn't hold their hand or take them out to dinner. You couldn't do jack, basically."

Looking up and meeting his friend's gaze again, Peyton was finally able to fully grasp just what people meant when they called eyes the windows to a person's soul. There were so many emotions in Welker's eyes, it stirred a feeling resembling guilt deep in Peyton's gut.

"Who's the lucky guy?"

Peyton pretended to be surprised. "How did you—"

With a sad smile, Wes shrugged. "Personal experience. Let's just leave it at that."

"Uh..." Crap, was he supposed to just outright say Danny's name? Was he supposed to wait?

"It's okay," Wes told him, reaching out and setting a reassuring hand on Peyton's arm.

"Amendola," Peyton said quietly. "Danny, I mean. It's Danny."

The confession seemed to do the trick, as Danny had predicted it would. Surprise was written all over Wes's face, but there was an underlying sense of relief in his expression that told tales of months of longing and envy. The tension bled from his shoulders and Peyton knew the plan was well on its way to phase four.

"If you love him," Wes said after a beat, " _be_ with him."

* * *

"You getting ready for a hot date?"

Tom whirled around, only to find Danny smirking at him from across the hotel room. "Something like that," he muttered. "If only I could tie this stupid thing." Brow furrowed, he focused again on the mirror before him, his distraught reflection making him sigh in frustration.

"Nervous?"

"Yeah," Tom said, voice honest.

Shaking his head, Danny covered the distance between them and batted Tom's hands away. "I didn't take you as the nervous type," Danny said conversationally, tongue jutting out as he fixed the tangled mess Tom had made. "I also didn't take you as the type to forget how to tie a tie before going on a hot date."

Tom shot him a look that spoke volumes about shutting up and pissing off, but said nothing as Danny tightened the knot.

"I'm not judging," added Danny. "I'm the same way with my boyfriend." He schooled his expression into something casual but open, sending Tom a friendly and trusting smile.

"Boyfriend?" Tom asked, surprised.

His smile brightened. "Would you rather I said partner?"

"What? No! No, I'm totally okay with that. You just—"

"I'm just giving you a hard time, man, chill out. You actually know him."

If ever there was a time to have a camera on him, it was then. Tom looked like he was at a loss for words, but Danny couldn't really blame him. The man probably felt blindsided by having two bombs dropped on him in one go.

"Peyton," explained Danny, unprompted. "The long distance doesn't really allow us to go on many dates, but a friend introduced us a few months ago, and we've been on a few. I was always nervous when I got ready. Sometimes it was because I was worried about being caught in the act. Other times, it was because I was afraid he would let me down nicely over a glass of wine and food later that night."

Wordlessly, Tom pulled Danny into a warm hug, catching the latter off-guard. It lasted for just a few seconds, but it was the single nicest thing Tom had done to or for him in the time they'd worked together. When he pulled away, Tom patted Danny on the back and said, "That was brave of you. Thanks for trusting me."

* * *

Tom normally didn't fidget, but it seemed like fidgeting was the only thing he was capable of tonight. He kept checking his watch every two minutes—which felt more like two hours—because a part of him, insecure and irrational, believed Wes would stand him up, though he firmly knew otherwise. He tried distracting himself by studying the menu and other diners, but his gaze always strayed back to the piece of paper sitting in front of him.

_Blue Ginger. Eight o'clock. It'll be a nice treat for the both of us._

Julian had given him the message—"Wes couldn't get a hold of you," he'd said, "so he called me"—before the team left to go to a Bruins game. Now, it taunted him, because it was 8:07, he wasn't sure if he'd set the time on his watch a few minutes in advance and he _really_ fucking missed Wes.

"Excuse me," he called out to the waitress passing him, "do you have the time on you? I think my watch is a few minutes fast."

She smiled politely before glancing down at her wrist, and then at the wall on the opposite side of the restaurant. "It's 8:01, sir. Can I start you off with a drink, or do you still want to wait for your friend?"

"A drink sounds fantastic," a familiar voice joined in, the equally familiar face appearing just a second later.

Tom was out of his seat and kissing Wes before either of them could exchange verbal greetings. The waitress appeared startled, but kindly excused herself with promises of getting them some water. There were still a good few people enjoying their dinner in the restaurant, but Tom was fed up of having to hide.

"I've missed you," he sighed, hands on either side of Wes's face.

A shaky laugh was the only warning Tom got before Wes ambushed his lips with a fervent kiss.

* * *

"I resented the long distance," Wes mentioned the next morning, watching Tom with a lazy smile. "But now that I know it does wonders for our sex life—well, I think I resent it a little less."

They'd been in no rush after retiring to Tom's hotel room the previous night, utilizing the time to relearn and rememorize the dips and curves on each other's bodies. Tom had planted tender kisses down the expanse of Wes's body, before turning him over and pressing fingers inside of him. He'd spent agonizing minutes, one finger at a time, stretching Wes out. When Tom had finally pressed inside of him with his cock, thrusting in and out, Wes was left breathless. He came just moments later, with Tom shortly following, their hands tangled together.

Tom, boneless and sated beside him now, merely hummed in agreement.

"What," Wes asked, "you too lazy to talk now?"

"You're not?" Tom countered. "Let your tired boyfriend go back to sleep."

"Did you just call yourself my boyfriend?"

Eyes fluttering open, Tom scrutinized the other man before asking, "Is that okay?"

"You _idiot_ ," Wes said fondly, emphasizing the last word with a gentle smack. He pecked Tom on the lips for good measure as he answered, "Of course that's okay."

* * *

Sunday, after the game, when they learned that both teams had played a part in the grand scheme to get them back together, they made a mental note to send everyone a 'thank you' basket for their efforts—Peyton and Danny in particular. (For now, though, a kiss on live television would have to suffice.)

**Author's Note:**

> You know when you try really, _really_ hard not to ship something—because you dislike or even hate one of the involved people, or because you're not at all interested in the TV show they're on—but you end up shipping it anyway? Yeah. That's pretty much the case here. I'm not even a Patriots fan; I don't understand what happened. It started with watching related videos on YouTube, then transformed into searching endlessly for more things to satisfy my sudden Welker/Brady craving.
> 
> And when I began doubting whether or not I actually shipped it, I came across [this](http://itiswhatitis.weei.com/sports/newengland/football/patriots/2012/05/30/brady-loves-welker-but-when-it-comes-to-a-new-deal-for-wr-none-of-those-things-are-really-up-to-me/):
> 
> "I always support Wes. None of those decisions are up to me, and these things end up working themselves out at some point. I don’t know how or when or who or why, but sometimes I get emotionally involved in those types of situations and it doesn’t work that well for me so I just try to support him as a friend. We’re all in this business, and it’s a tough business, and you always hope for the best. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I love Wes, I’d love to have him here for as long as I’m playing. But none of those things are really up to me."


End file.
